


Dr. Wanna Do

by itsalwayssunnyintaubate



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hospitals, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwayssunnyintaubate/pseuds/itsalwayssunnyintaubate
Summary: Patients are prone to develop crushes on their attending doctors. It happens. And Dr. Reid, with the face and the beard and the spine-melting voice, is more than used to that predicament, especially with women.Geoffrey McCullum is always getting hurt beyond the Guard’s ability to fix him and, after a month working at Pembroke Hospital, Jonathan sees the doctor-patient crush situation rapidly taking an unexpected turn. It is not as bad as one would expect.





	1. A man of miracles

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so... I finished the game and got so frustrated with how little of these two I had that I have now six (SIX) fanfics in my drawer... this is the first one to come out, though.
> 
> English is not my mother language and this has not been proofread so please let me know if there are any mistakes hanging around.
> 
> Also, the title comes from the Caro Emerald song Dr. Wanna Do. It's hilarious. Please, listen to it..

_Chapter One_

_A man of miracles_

It is not at all unusual for patients in dire straits to develop a bond of sorts with their attending doctor. It’s not unusual but it doesn’t make it any less off-putting or inappropriate. That being said, Doctor Jonathan Emmet Reid is quite used to the effect he tends to have on some people, women in particular. He knows his appearance is the biggest responsible for it and the way he holds himself, carefully proper and kind at the same time, sets him as precisely the type of unachievable target some ladies love to pursue. It’s about the fantasy, his sister Mary would tell him time and again, more than it is about him specifically.

This whole thing seems to have arrived at a whole new level, though, since his turning. He can only assume that the eerie fairness his milky skin has gained and the less-than-human brightness in his eyes bear some weird appeal to the ladies. He does his best to fly under the radar, but it’s really difficult to practice medicine from a distance and so he ends up on a Tuesday night a month or so after starting his work at Pembroke Hospital having to explain to a round-faced woman that she needs only go to the apothecary for vitamins the next time she feels light-headed instead of coming to the hospital. After all, people are dying left and right from serious things…

The woman, Grace something, seems to barely hear him, her eyes glued to his face in a way that would be amusing if it didn’t make the hairs on the doctor’s neck stand up.

Nurse Hawking walks past where they’re talking at the reception with a knowing look and an entertained smile that makes Jonathan want to hide in his room, but he instead crosses his arms and tries to excuse himself for what he feels to be the fifth time.

That’s when he _smells_ it.

Blood. Fresh. Lots of it, pumping out of open wounds with a sweetness so provoking it’s like it’s floating right under Jonathan’s nose. The doctor presses his lips together, trying to hide his fangs, but can’t help but breathe in, looking around as he tries to find the source of the tempting scent. It’s not normal blood, he thinks, but he doesn’t recognize any sort of infection and lately he has become _very_ familiar with what infection smells like.

Voices come from the hospital gates and soon three men in uniforms enter carrying the barely conscious form of a fourth one. Jonathan averts his eyes from the bloodied figure two of the men support among themselves while the third one yells for help. It’s an emergency, he says.

“We need a doctor!”

The smell of blood clings to the back of his throat and Jonathan swallows thickly. He feels as thirsty as the day he woke up to this cursed existence, as lost as when he realized that he feed on his own sister. He had been getting better at controlling his thirst, hadn’t he?

What in God’s name is going on?

“Not him again…” Pippa Hawking complain as she and Nurse Branagam reach the reception. Pippa looks at her colleague and says, “I took him last time…”

One could argue that a hospital was not the best place for a blood-sucking creature to work with discretion, but Jonathan was never one to choose the easy route. Tonight, though, the task of keeping himself hidden is proving to be more difficult than ever. He licks over his teeth, feeling the throbbing protuberances that his fangs are, anxious for a meal.

“Dr. Reid, come on!” Nurse Branagan calls him and Jonathan snaps back to reality.

“I’ll take him.” He quickly says, approaching the group of men and leaning in to have a look at the semi-conscious man. He’s strong, alright, built like a bull, but is pale as paper and his eyes gaze at the doctor dazedly, unable to focus on his face. Jonathan’s dead heart clenches at the pained expression on the man’s face. “What happened?”

“We were attacked, sir… McCullum didn’t see it coming. It got him right before we put it down.” The man on the right explains and Jonathan looks at him in confusion.

“Before you put what down?”

“A fucking Skal…” the one on the left says, enraged, moving in such a way that the unconscious one threatens to topple over. The third man explains further:

“It was moving so fast. We almost couldn’t kill it…”

Jonathan immediately knows what type of creature they’re talking about and damn right they are a pain in the ass, even for him. The man on the right lets out a tired grunt and Jonathan gets moving.

“Here, let me…” He offers, leaning down to pull the bloodied man’s legs over his arm before picking him up without as much as blinking. He’s obviously not thinking clearly with the blood still slowly spilling from the man’s body so he doesn’t even notice the strange looks his action grants him. Urgently, he says: “Let’s find him a bed.”

“Careful, Doctor Reid.” Nurse Branagan warns, but starts promptly following him. “Boys, you better wait here.”

“No way! Where are you taking him?” The man who had his hands free asks and Jonathan realises, belatedly, how much younger than the others he looks, pale face still peppered by acne and hair a complete mess of red curls.

“The doctor is going to examine him.” Branagan explains as Reid walks ahead of her. He doesn’t see the impressed look Grace, still lingering in the reception are, casts him. The old Jonathan wouldn’t have been able to carry a man that big without serious strain, but immortality bears more gifts than just his horrible hunger. “Give us a few minutes. I’ll come let you know when you can see him, if you want to wait.”

“But…”

“Don’t argue with me, young man.” It’s the last thing Jonathan hears the nurse say before she’s out of his hearing range, but he knows the argument continues because she doesn’t come after him until after he’s got the man – McCullum, he reminds himself – on the bed and has cut his arm and shoulder free of his clothes. When Jonathan touches his face, he opens his eyes and starts mumbling incoherently but stays awake long enough for the doctor to check his pupils. He’s responsive, alright, but dizzy from blood loss and has an impressive bump on his head.

It’s easier to control himself now that he’s not out in the open, but this up close Jonathan can smell both the man’s blood and his sweat and hair. He has strong features, McCullum, but has his eyebrows drawn together in an agonized expression that makes the doctor sigh, pained.

“Doctor Reid, how is he?” Nurse Branagan asks, startling the doctor who hadn’t noticed her entering the room. Clearing his throat, he declares:

“He has several lacerations on his arm and shoulder, but should be fine.” Jonathan’s shirt, however, will need some washing, he thinks as he looks down at himself. At least his coat is still clean. “I’m more concerned about the bump on his head.”

The nurse nods in agreement.

“Will he have to spend the night?” She checks.

“I think it’s for the best.” The doctor ponders. “I’m going to clean and dress his wounds now, but I’m worried about the fact that he’s not entirely conscious…”

“You do what you think it’s best, doctor.” Branagan says, obviously relieved to have Jonathan do what would usually be assigned to her. The doctor notices nothing, though. “I’ll tell his companions to come see him come morning, if that’s alright.”

“It’s quite alright, nurse. Thank you.” Jonathan says, standing up in order to gather the supplies he needs.

McCullum reacts twice while Jonathan is treating him. Once, when the antiseptic touches his wounds. He hisses and swears under his breath, but doesn’t seem to come back to earth. And again when Jonathan finishes dressing his wounds and stands up to look at his head. The bump is not as serious as he had previously thought, he notices as he examines where the hair is shorter on the back of the man’s head, but the movement has his patient mumbling:

“Goddamn it, I’ll be up. Just… just give me five more minutes, and… I’ll be up… I’ll…”

Jonathan represses a laugh, but can’t help but smile. It’s only then that he notices the dark circles under the man’s eyes.

His final diagnosis: exhaustion. The blood loss is a plus. And his remedy is to let the man sleep, what he doesn’t believe will happen if he lets his companions take him with them. The doctor gathers his instruments and moves to the sink to sterilize them but before he does, he gives into the ridiculous impulse to bring one of the metal pieces, still stained with blood, to his lips.

Yeah, in retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have done that. It’s not something he has done before. Really. It’s just that… nobody’s looking and the smells is _so_ enticing.

The moment the blood touches his tongue the entire room, the hospital and the planet disappear from his cognizance. It’s electrifying, it’s what it is, and Jonathan groans deeply. He has to brace himself, fingers white against the sink, in order not to turn around and jump on McCullum. It takes him a couple of seconds, but he eventually gets himself together.

And feels like a complete creep.

-x-

“You wanted to see me?” Jonathan asks as he enters Dr. Swansea’s office.

“Oh, yes, Jonathan. Please, come in, come in. Have a seat.” Swansea’s smile falters as he speaks. “I heard you met Geoffrey McCullum today.”

“I wouldn’t call it meeting. I treated him, but he was barely there during the entire process.”  The vampire considers. “You don’t seem too happy about it, Edgar.”

“Well, it’s not that…” Swansea explains in a hurry, but he doesn’t look any less concerned. “Do you know who he is?”

Jonathan shrugs.

“A guard of some sort?”

“A g-? No, not just a guard…” Swansea mumbles with a weird laugh. “He’s the leader of the Guard of Priwen, Jonathan.”

“The Guard of Priwen?” Horror starts dawning on the vampire doctor. “The vampire…”

“The vampire hunters, yes.” Isn’t that something?, Jonathan thinks to himself, some phantom memory of the hunter’s blood still on his tongue. “This is neutral territory, you see, but I’m not sure if they’re aware of your, well, condition.”

“They didn’t notice.” Jonathan quickly says. He’s sure of it.

“No, of course not. They probably weren’t paying attention…” They were so frantic with McCullum half passed out in the reception. “It could be a problem, though, considering how much McCullum likes to show up here.”

Those words get Jonathan’s attention.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, every couple of weeks the bastard goes and almost gets himself killed and has to come here, being hurt beyond the Guard’s medics’ abilities.” Swansea explains and Jonathan has the strong impression that the director is not McCullum’s biggest fan. “Is he going to be alright?”

“Yeah. I don’t know for how long, though, with his reputation…” Jonathan half-jokes, repressing a yawn. Sleep is tugging at his eyelids already. “If that’s all, Edgar, I’ll excuse myself. Bedtime is almost here.”

“Oh, of course, of course. Have a good night, I guess?” Swansea look out into the gradually brightening sky. Jonathan stands up, feeling the exhaustion of the night catching up to him. He still has to think about the things he experienced tonight and he can’t do that with Swansea looking at him with such worry. Before he leaves, however, the director calls: “Jonathan?”

“Yes?” The vampire replies tiredly.

“Please be careful.” Swansea gravely asks. Jonathan forces himself to smile in what he expects to be a reassuring way.

And lies:

“Always am.”


	2. For endless observation in the hands of Superman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey manages to get himself poisoned. Jonathan Reid comes to the rescue. The hunter is not unconscious this time, though, but Jonathan does not encounter as much resistance as one would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this has not been revised very carefully and this is my nanowrimo project, so my mind is kind of crashing right now (I have already finished this story and other 3 that are going to be published here, so keep an ear out - or eye? idk anymore). 
> 
> Also: my first language is Portuguese, so please be forgiving when reading haha this might not be as accurate as I would like it to be. And let me know if you find any inconsistencies ou weird shit out there.  
> Lots of love! <3

Careful, as it turns out, is the complete opposite of what Jonathan is during the next few weeks, running around the dark corners of London trying to cast some light onto whatever is tearing the city apart. So it comes as no surprise that the doctor is completely exhausted when he comes back to Edgar on a cold night to share his knowledge that Dorothy Crane will not be returning to Pembroke Hospital to work with them.

Swansea doesn’t seem happy with the news, but there’s very little to be happy about on these bleak days. Jonathan is really looking forward to just finishing his rounds and going to bed early, so he’s quick to leave the director’s office and go downstairs. He should know by now, however, that like many of his expectations, this one would go on unfulfilled.

It is almost six in the morning when the sound of frantic voices pulls him towards the hospital’s reception. It is loudest one that makes him grit his teeth: gruff Irish accent, deep and husky masculine tone and a terrifying type of control and strength underlining his exasperation.

Jonathan should take McCullum, a nurse says when she sees the doctor approach. Since he’s taken care of the hunter before, it’s her argument.

It’s been a month or so since McCullum’s visit, but the human memory is a fantastic thing when it gets people out of working.

McCullum, on the other hand… well, he is just as happy to be brought here as Jonathan is to be his attending doctor tonight.

Not happy _at all_.

The instant Jonathan gets close enough, he realises the hunter had no choice but to come to him. It is in his heartbeat, fast and perfectly clear on Jonathan’s eardrums. In the smell of his breath, in the messy, pale and sweaty mess he is, draped over a wheelchair.

Yeah, Jonathan _should_ take him.

Nurse Hawking leads them all to the infirmary and with Jonathan in tall, frowning like that is what they’re paying him to do. It takes him a few moments to notice the guards who were escorting McCullum are right behind him, so he stops before they follow him into the private room, raising a hand as he says:

“I’m going to need you to stay here.” The guards stop, but keep trying to peek around him into the open door. “Sorry.”

Jonathan doesn’t wait for an answer. Closing the door after he enters gives him a strange satisfaction, but the good feeling is short-lived as McCullum, as soon as he lays eyes on Jonathan, wails:

“It’s a fucking leech!”

Nurse Hawking lets out an aggravated sigh, trying to force the man to sit on the bed as he struggles to get up.

“Oh, that’s a new one. He’s hallucinating!” Hawking rolls her eyes.

“I’m not…” A coughing fit prevents McCullum from continuing to talk. His chest rises and falls noisily as he clutches at it. “Goddamn it…”

“What’s the matter?” The nurse asks as Jonathan approaches silently.

“It’s… hard to breathe.” It’s an explanation that Jonathan doesn’t really need. He can hear the man’s throat closing over his staggering breath, his heart beating like crazy, taking whatever poison he has in him even deeper into his body. The hunter presses on, though: “That’s a bloody killer, you stupid woman, call another doctor!”

And that’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Hawking sets her hands on her hips and starts a speech about how she’s had enough of McCullum’s bullshit and he should mind the way he talks to the woman holding the sharp objects. Hawking is not the kindest of women, but Jonathan doesn’t remember ever seeing her so annoyed at patient before. She then takes the hunter’s arm with a practiced movement and pierces his vein, setting up IV fluids while the man keeps struggling to breathe.

“He’s…” McCullum tries to say, pointing towards Jonathan, but he eventually allows the nurse to force him back until he’s lying down. Laying horizontally, he breathes a little easier.

“We’re fine here, nurse.” Jonathan says, stepping closer to the bed as Hawking steps back with a relieved sigh.

“Are you sure, Dr. Reid?” She asks even as she moves towards the door. Yeah, if Jonathan was in her position, he’d probably want to leave as fast as possible too. He nods and as soon they are alone in the room, he says:

“Tell me, how did you manage to get yourself poisoned, Mr. McCullum?”

McCullum grimaces, but manages to open his eyes long enough to glare at Jonathan while the doctor examines the IV line. Hawking is good, Jonathan thinks. There’s barely any sign of Geoffrey’s blood in the air even as Jonathan tries to chase the metallic scent, now tainted by the bitterness of the poison.

“Fuckin’ leech and… your… senses…” He wheezes. There is no reason to deny it, so Jonathan replies:

“Quite useful at the moment, I’d dare say.” McCullum’s eyes are barely open, but Jonathan would bet his license that he is glaring at him. He huffs out a sigh that is half-amused, half-annoyed. “Was it ingested? The poison?”

Geoffrey shakes his head.

“No. It was… on a blade.”

Jonathan reaches out to feel McCullum’s temperature on the back of his hand. He is running a little hot, but feels cool, clammy to the touch, and Jonathan doesn’t smell fresh blood, so he asks:

“How long ago?”

“Couple of hours…” McCullum mumbles, choking on his words.

“Do you still have the blade?”

The hunter nods, giving up on keeping his eyes open.

“The… recruits.”

“Breathe, McCullum.” Jonathan whispers, laying a hand on the hunter’s chest as he starts gasping for air. They don’t have much time.

“It’s… hard.” The hunter says and for the first time Jonathan hears something different from irritation on the other’s voice and doesn’t like it one bit.

_Panic_.

“I’ll go fetch the blade. What else are you feeling?”

“My heart…” Panic keeps rising up. Jonathan rubs a soothing circle against his sternum before reaching up to move McCullum’s messy wet hair away from his face.

“You’re also sweating in bags, but you’re going to be alright.” Jonathan whispers. “Anything else?”

“It’s difficult… to swallow.”

Jonathan nods. He could, of course, take the easier route and have a taste of the hunter’s blood in order to try to recognize what is in his body, but he doubts McCullum would consent to that and he is still feeling pretty bad at his lapse of judgement on their last encounter. He really does not want to think about what could happen if he had another taste of the man, so he settles for the next best thing, standing up to rush through the hospital in order to retrieve the blade with a soft:

“I’ll be right back…” Before he reaches the door, though, he can’t help but add: “Try not to get yourself killed while I try to come up with an antidote for you, please.”

What he hears in response is something between a cough and a snort. A gruff voice replies, then, not nearly as angry as it intends to sound:

“Not… funny.”

-x-

It takes no more than ten minutes for Jonathan to get the weapon from the guards – a short sharp dagger, too small to be useful for anything other than being a vehicle for poison – and come up with what he hopes is the right antidote after no more than one whiff of the blade. When he returns to the infirmary, the guards gathered around Geoffrey’s door stop whispering among themselves and solemnly part to let Jonathan through. He still sees the way they are reaching for their weapons, however, so he doesn’t feel at ease.

McCullum is still on the bed when he enters, but he’s now propped on one elbow, head stuck to the side of the bed while he vomits violently on the floor. Jonathan makes a face at the smell, bile and some blood from abrasions inside the hunter’s throat.

McCullum drops back down onto the pillows with an exhausted sigh, not even looking at the doctor, and Jonathan can relate. The sky is turning a bright shade of blue outside and Jonathan’s eyelids feel like they weight a ton as he prepares a syringe with the antidote.

“This is going to burn going in, but we don’t have time to prepare a thinner solution…” he explains as he takes the hunter’s arm. The flesh is hot under Jonathan’s fingers, oddly soft as Jonathan turns it into a good angle to get the needle in, dark hairs tickling his palm. McCullum barely offers any resistance.

“I can take it.” He replies. “It’s alright, Reid, just do it.”

Jonathan presses the needle against the hunter’s arm until he pierces the skin, but it is only when he pressed the plunger that McCullum reacts with a soft:

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” His entire body tenses, but Jonathan can see the way he’s forcing himself not to flinch, for which the doctor is thankful. It wouldn’t be good for any of them if the needle escaped, Jonathan being tired and hungry and Geoffrey needing as much of the antidote as he can have.

“It’s over…” Jonathan says reflexively, soothing as if Geoffrey was a child, stopping just short of shushing the hunter.

Now _that_ would be embarrassing.

Jonathan presses a ball of gauze to Geoffrey’s arm as he pulls the needle out, carefully breathing through his mouth. It is just like he hasn’t done anything, though, because he can feel the tang of blood on his tongue and clearly remembers the electricity that inundated his body when he gave into the temptation of tasting Geoffrey’s blood a month ago. Jonathan leans back, turning his face away, and instructs: “Hold this. Put pressure on it.”

Geoffrey casts the doctor a knowing look.

“Sorry.” Jonathan says, face burning as his lips twist in an involuntary snarl. Geoffrey is gradually relaxing, though, and just says:

“It’s fine.” Jonathan shakes his head to try and focus on his patient. He can _feel_ the antidote taking effect, spreading across the hunter’s body as his heart pumps. The first thing that goes back to normal is his breathing, his throat opening for air as the man melts against the bed in an exhausted pile of muscles.

“I’ll let you get some rest, hunter.” Jonathan offers, standing up, but he pauses before opening the door, frowning. It’s unbelievable. “I am, however, afraid that your men are waiting for me to step outside so they can behead me.”

He actually considers just leaving through the closed window in the corner, but he really wants to avoid the torture of sunlight if he can. His words catch the hunter’s attention, though, because he casts the raven-haired vampire an amused look and asks:

“How do you know?”

“I can hear them.” Jonathan explains, looking over his shoulder.

“Of course you can. Fucking leeches…” Geoffrey shakes his head, yawning. Jonathan can barely feel offended. Tired as he is, he can’t help but yawn too. Very slowly, Geoffrey says: “I suppose you expect me to call them off.”

“If you’d be so kind. I did save your life, after all…” Jonathan argues with a tired smile.

“Just open the door, Reid.” Geoffrey huffs. As soon as the door is open, a few pistols are pointed at Jonathan’s face. McCullum demands: “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, recruit?”

“It’s a leech, sir!” The young man closer to the door replies, wide-eyed.

“Did it attack you?” Geoffrey asks and Jonathan tries and fails not to feel offended by the way the hunter refers to him as an ‘it’, but dares not say a thing. “He’s treating me, you numbskulls; put your fucking guns away…”

“But… you said to attack on sight.” The recruit insists and Jonathan finds it prudent to take a step back lest he gets shot in the face.

“This one if off-limits. He’s… he’s necessary right now.” Geoffrey impatiently explains.

“Because he’s treating you?”

“Because of the fucking epidemic, you moron…” The leader tells his men. “Now go back to your posts… I don’t know what you’re still even doing here.”

“We were worried, sir.” An older guard says and Geoffrey softens a little. One by one, the weapons are lowered.

“I’m fine, Horace.” He says. “Tell them I’m fine, Reid.”

Jonathan crosses his arms, rubbing fingertips against his eyes.

“He’s going to be fine.” He says.

“Is he free to go, sir?” Horace asks. At least he seems polite. Jonathan looks briefly at Geoffrey’s expectant face before explaining:

“I doubt he’ll be able to stay on his feet for long. Let me get some more fluids into him and we’ll see how he’s doing.”

“Okay.” Horace says, turning to the other guards. “You guys heard the man.”

With that, they stalk away. Jonathan scratches his beard thoughtfully and ponders:

“I expected more of a fight.”

“They’re a bunch of idiots, but they are disciplined when it comes to taking orders.” Geoffrey says, moving on the bed so that he’s lying on his side now, eyes blinking slowly, on the brink of sleep.

“I meant you.” Jonathan gives him a small smile. “I thought you’d refuse to stay.”

“I might need a minute.” The man admits, somewhat grumpy. It is kind of adorable given how sleepy he is, and, whoa, hold that thought. Jonathan might need sleep more than he thought if he’s starting to think the Priwen leader is adorable.

Before he leaves, though, he hear Geoffrey say

“Thank you.” The man says, dark blue eyes sleepily dancing across the doctor’s face. “For helping me…”

“It’s what I do.” Jonathan replies, textbook-like and detached from reality. Geoffrey snorts and, somewhat amused, adds:

“I owe you one, Reid, but you set a fucking toe out of line and I’ll have your head, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, hunter.” Jonathan replies with a small smile that the hunter doesn’t see as his eyes fall shut and stay closed. “Try and get some sleep, for now. You’ll feel better.”

There is another snort. Jonathan touches the wood of the open door.

“No kiss goodnight?” Geoffrey wonders with a smirk and Jonathan freezes. Is he flirting? “See you, doctor.”

-x-

Jonathan washes himself mechanically and barely gets out of his clothes before passing out on the bed. When night comes, the first thing he does is check on the hunter, but the man is gone from the premises. He checks the reception for the man’s discharge papers, but there’s nothing.

“He comes and goes as he pleases…” Gwyneth Branagan explains at the doctor’s confusion. Jonathan’s frustration, though, does not have much to do with medicine. He had expected to see the hunter, and the hunter is nowhere to be found, and it’s…

It’s weird, this feeling, because as much as Jonathan is used to being targeted by his patients affections, crushing on someone he’s treated is something entirely new and he can’t be blamed for not recognizing it for what it is.

However, he feels, rightfully so, that he hasn’t seen the last of Geoffrey McCullum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Also, you can find me on twitter twitter.com/calmajuh and instagram instagram.com/calmajuh


	3. I can't get over you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least he's not on the brink of death tonight, Jonathan thinks as he kneels behind where Geoffrey is braced against the hospital bed, trousers around his thighs and breath ragged.

Geoffrey McCullum is not happy. Before anything else is said, it is paramount that this is perfectly clear: he’s not happy at all.

It’s been less than a week since his last misadventure at Pembroke Hospital and although his reasons for going back there today are not nearly as life-threatening as last time, he’s still, as mentioned above, not _happy_.

It’s embarrassing, it’s what it is.

Hanging on to the window inside the lorry as he can’t possibly find a comfortable position to sit and every small bump they hit on the road makes him whimper in a way that heavily threatens his already enfeebled manhood, well…

All the while, Johnson, the new recruit, continues to apologise profusely; Geoffrey is _this close_ to kicking him out of the vehicle when they finally arrive at the hospital. It’s a good thing that he didn’t kick the boy out, though, seeing as he needs all the help he can get to make his way towards the front desk without passing out from pain.

Nurse Branagan, working on some paperwork behind the desk, does not look especially thrilled to see him. Her humour only sours, though, when he demands to talk to Dr. Reid and refuses to explain what is going on with him.

“Reid only comes in after six, sir.” Branagan explains very tiredly.

 _Of course_ , Geoffrey thinks as he puts two and two together. He is in a considerable amount of pain, so you’ll forgive him for being a tad distracted.

It’s still late afternoon, however, so he says:

“I’ll wait for him.”

Branagan just glowers at him for a second. Only the irritation on her face prevents Geoffrey from refusing the wheelchair she brings him. If he sits in an odd position, thankfully nobody notices. He even manages to send his men back to the headquarters while he waits for Reid to come out of his slumber.

It is quite odd to think that only when the man’s sleep schedule was remarked the hunter remembered his supernatural character. It seems like the events of his last visit were enough for Geoffrey to begin nurturing a hesitant kind of admiration for the man who swiftly assisted him even as he threatened to expose the doctor’s true nature.

Maybe Geoffrey really _would_ end up seeing him as more than a filthy blood-sucking leech sooner or later, who knows? The world is certainly strange enough these days.

-x-

As the sun disappears beyond the tall buildings around the dirty London streets, Jonathan Reid stirs awake. He has just had the strangest dream, so he does not immediately get up.

In his dream, he pursued the pale and bloodied figure of his sister Mary across cobblestone-covered streets, their feet pounding against the ground as she laughed to herself, head thrown back in almost hysterical glee.

Jonathan has to shake his head to get over the strange emotion fluttering in his chest before he goes to wash himself and find some clothes. As he approaches the hospital’s front desk, a few minutes later, a distracted Nurse Branagan greets him:

“Good evening, Dr. Reid.”

“Evening.” He replies in what he hopes is an amenable tone. “How are things tonight?”

“Oh, Howcroft tried to bite Dr. Strickland again, so, you know, not much is new, really.” She absentmindedly replies. “Oh, and you have a patient waiting.”

 _Oh, no_ , Jonathan thinks. The magic words.

“Not again…” He stammers, looking around in alarm. “Is it that Grace woman again? She came back? I specifically _told_ her…”

“Oh, no, it’s not her.” Branagan quickly tells him, picking up a clipboard and walking off as if she expects Jonathan to follow her. “It’s McCullum again. He’s this way...”

“Oh.” Jonathan breathes, falling into step alongside the woman. He hopes his relief does not show too clearly when he asks: “What is wrong with him, now?”

“That’s the problem, Dr. Reid. I haven’t the faintest idea. He said he’d only speak to you.” She explains as they approach the wheelchair where the man is half-sitting, handsome face all sorts of mad as he stares out the window as if the night outside is to blame for whatever predicament he finds himself in tonight. “Good luck to you.”

“Thank you, nurse.” Jonathan softly says as he approaches the man with a quiet: “McCullum. What brings you here today?”

At the sound of the doctor’s voice, Geoffrey looks up and quickly moves to stand. He is clearly not able to, however, and Jonathan grimaces in sympathy at the pained little gasp the hunter lets out before settling back onto his chair.

“Dr. Reid.” Geoffrey tensely greets the other man. “I’d rather we talk in private, if you don’t mind.”

Jonathan’s nostrils flare as he scents the air around the hunter. He can smell dried blood and gunpowder, but at least McCullum doesn’t seem to be on the brink of death tonight.

“Sure. Do you need me to…” Jonathan gestures towards the wheelchair but the hunter slaps his hands away before he can even touch it, grunting:

“No, I can do it.” It hurts to push the chair, Jonathan can tell, but McCullum insists, “Lead the way.”

-x-

It is not long before Jonathan has Geoffrey braced against the hospital bed with his pants around his thighs. Jonathan kneels behind him, bright blue eyes fixed on the source of the man’s discomfort. Carefully, he reaches out to touch the skin of a pale buttock, eyes narrowing as he tries to see…

_Oh._

His eyebrows shoot up in astonishment.

“It’s a gunshot wound.” Jonathan mutters more to himself than anything else, carefully breathing through his mouth as fresh blood oozes out of the injury at the faintest movement. Annoyed, Geoffrey replies:

“No shit.”

Jonathan lets go of him, stepping back, but does not stand up yet, instead staring dumbfounded at the smooth skin of Geoffrey’s backside.

“How on Earth did you manage to get shot… here?”

“Fucking rookie…” The hunter cryptically says. “He thought the gun wasn’t loaded… I just _happened_ to be on the way.”

“But… _here_?”

McCullum sighs. Moves to pull his pants back but Jonathan stops him in order to take a closer look. The bullet is not there anymore. Somebody must have removed it. But there are still several pieces of metal embedded on the hunter’s flesh, digging into muscle and fat at every movement.

“He was sitting, like, three metres away…” Geoffrey explains. “It hurts like a motherfucker… I can barely move. And… it’s humiliating as hell.”

The last part is said so low Jonathan is not even sure he really heard it.

“Is that why you asked for me?” Jonathan inquires. The thought makes his heart flutter in a very unfamiliar way. It is not bad, though. This hopeful, fleeting emotion.

“What?” McCullum sounds surprised that Jonathan knows about it. He huffs an annoyed breath. “Fucking nurses…”

“They’ll start thinking you have a crush on me or something.” Jonathan jokes, pulling at the skin a little, trying to count how many pieces he will have to remove.

“Don’t be an arsehole, Reid.” McCullum sounds every bit as embarrassed as considers the situation to be. When Jonathan releases his cheek, the hunter complains with a soft: “Ugh…”

Jonathan has never before thought that a… well, a _butt_ could be expressive, but he might have to reconsider his entire view on butts as Geoffrey’s tenses in surprise when the infirmary door is noisily shoved open. Jonathan is so distracted that it takes him a second to register the choked curse Nurse Hawking gasps as she stops dead on her tracks.

“Dr. Reid!?” She calls out in alarm. “That’s… oh, _God_ , that is _extremely_ unprofessional!”

Jonathan represses an amused smile, moving to pull the hunter’s trousers back up, carefully as to not make his injuries worse but intent on preserving the man’s modesty.

“It’s not what it looks like, nurse.” He explains, still as calm as a Hindu cow. Geoffrey stands up as well, doing his fly up with a bright red blush on his cheeks, but he still cannot stand up straight. _The poor bastard_ , Jonathan thinks.

“Gwyneth said… Well… I came to see if you needed anything.” Hawking explains, unable to look at either man for too long.

Jonathan is not taken aback, though, and promptly starts listing what he needs: some antiseptic, hydrogen peroxide, and those tweezers he left in the other room, the ones with the sharp tips?

Hawking has an unreadable expression on her face as she leaves. No sooner than she is gone, the sullen hunter asks:

“Will I live?”

Jonathan lets out a dry laugh, fondly stating:

“Certainly.” He gestures towards the bed with an encouraging smile. “Lay on the bed. On your stomach, please.”

“What? Why?”

“I need to remove the pieces of the bullet… it seems to have shattered.” Jonathan explains, moving a lamp closer to the bed and setting up his instruments while the hunter begrudgingly moves to obey. “Pull your pants down a little.” He instructs, turning his back to the man so that he can sterilize his tools.

He knows what Nurse Hawking thought she was seeing when she entered. The mere thought has Jonathan’s face burning hot. It is the proper thing to do, but he is caring as much for Geoffrey’s privacy as he is for his own sanity when he throws a soft blanket over the man’s body, adjusting the lamp so that it is right where he needs it.

As Jonathan takes a slow reassuring breath, he makes the mistake of breathing through his nose. The blood on the injury is mostly dry, but it still makes his mouth water. It is fortunate that the nurse comes back in when she does, handing him the tweezers to sterilize as he struggles to get himself under control. It only takes a minute to get the tool all cleaned up, but it is enough for him to calm down a bit.

When he comes back to sit on the stool next to Geoffrey, he tries to move the blanket away, but the hunter grabs the fabric to prevent him from doing so. Jonathan leans to the side to look at the his patient’s gloomy expression.

“Is there an issue?” He quietly asks. In the same tone, Geoffrey inquires:

“Do we _need_ a nurse present?”

When Jonathan looks at Hawking, it is very clear that she is deriving some twisted pleasure at Geoffrey’s misfortune, so the doctor promptly tells her:

“Miss Hawking, you may go now.”

She blinks in confusion:

“But…”

“And please close the door… we really don’t need an audience.”

She seems surprised for a second before blushing in embarrassment, but complies soon enough.

“She’s gone now.” Jonathan murmurs, removing the blanket. This time, the hunter doesn’t object.

Under the clear light of the lamp, it’s easier to see where most of the metal pieces are. They have probably shifted around when Geoffrey was brought to the hospital, Jonathan thinks, because the injury is not pretty.

“You do have your own medics at Priwen, right? How come you decided to come here instead?” Jonathan asks, reaching for the tweezers.

“We _had_ our own medics. Ouch!” Geoffrey complains as Jonathan pulls a small metal piece out of his wound. It is no bigger than a pea, but blood immediately starts oozing out of the hole it leaves behind and Jonathan clenches his teeth, moving in to remove the next piece. “One of them died and the other left after hearing about it… Goddamn it, be careful, Reid!”

“Try not to move.” Jonathan instructs, trying to move as fast as he can. He could try to use some anaesthetic, but it’s not like they can spare the resources these days. “How did it happen?”

“I already _told_ you… _fuck_ , Reid!”

“Not your injury, Geoffrey. The medic’s death.” Jonathan insists. It’s always a good idea to keep the patients talking and as Geoffrey starts explaining, Jonathan removes a few more pieces of metal.

“Oh, some crazed Ekon invaded the headquarters. He went in through the infirmary’s window. The medic was alone. Poor bastard never saw it coming…” The smell of blood is making Jonathan a little dizzy, his fangs throbbing as thirst slowly but surely dominates his senses. Jonathan forces himself to keep going, though. “He was drained before the guards even reached the room. Fuck! Are you _doing_ this on purpose?”

“I’m not trying to, no...” Jonathan says with a quiet laugh. _Not much longer, now_ , he thinks. Geoffrey’s voice is enough to ground him a little, even if he mostly complaining about Jonathan’s skill. “It’s almost over. This next one is the biggest piece. It should hurt more than the others.”

Geoffrey takes a deep breath, his entire body tensing as he tries to keep his rear end relaxed.

“I’m sorry.” Jonathan murmurs, positioning himself. “Are you ready?”

“Just do it.” The words are barely out of Geoffrey’s mouth when Jonathan _does_ it.

The metallic piece Jonathan leaves on the metal tray next to the bed is almost as big as a fingernail and it’s understandable why McCullum pulls away and wails in shock when it is removed, his entire body tense. Unfortunately, he also tenses the wrong muscles and more blood pours out of him, marking the mattress under his body.

Jonathan reaches out to comfort him out of instinct, breathing shallowly. He’s not thinking clearly, though, because he ends up cupping the top of Geoffrey’s uninjured buttock and rubbing a comforting circle into the soft peach-fuzz before he realises what he is doing.

He retract immediately, almost forgetting the dense smell of blood that fills the room as he promptly stands up and strides towards the small sink on the corner with his bloodied instruments in hand.

“What is it?” Geoffrey demands, peeking over his shoulder, curious at the movement he hears. Jonathan makes the mistake of meeting the hunter’s pained gaze and his heart stutters, throat closing over something he does not want to look directly at now.

“It’s over. I just need to clean and dress the wound. Just a second…” The vampire takes a deep breath. What is _wrong_ with him? _Caressing_ a patient’s arse! Never in his entire life had he done something this inappropriate… “Don’t move just ye-… Goddamn it, Geoffrey!”

Geoffrey lets out a horrible screech as he tries to sit up, promptly sinking back onto the bed as Jonathan moves to help him.

“Fuck… that was a mistake.” The hunter concludes with a wounded sigh, but he is smiling at his own stupidity. _Drunk on adrenaline_ , Jonathan thinks. “Are you going to stitch me up?”

“I’ll have to, yeah.” Jonathan replies, sitting back down. He prepares the antiseptic and warns: “This might sting a little…”

“I can handl-…” Geoffrey cuts himself off with a grunt as Jonathan pours the antiseptic over the bright red wound. “ _Fucking hell_ , Jonathan…”

Jonathan lets out a soft chuckle.

“Are we on first name basis, Geoffrey?” He teases.

“You called me by mine first, _leech_ …”

“And now we’re back to name calling, very mature…” Jonathan mopes, grabbing his needle and thread.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought that, seeing as you have your face up my bum, we were past such social conventions…” Geoffrey ponders and Jonathan snorts inelegantly before he starts stitching.

He likes stitching people up. He’s careful and quick and it’s the kind of thing he doesn’t have to think too much in order to get right. Once or twice, the hunter’s breath catches, but he doesn’t say anything else until the wound is sewn, dressed and hidden under his ruined uniform. And even then, he does not say much more than muttered agreements to Jonathan’s instructions on how to tend to the wound, how to change the bandages.

“I can do it for you, if you want, but you’ll have to come to the hospital.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just do it myself. You’ve seen enough of my arse to last you a lifetime, I reckon…” It’s the hunter’s reply. The bluntness of the statement takes the vampire by surprise and he laughs openly, which gets him a weird look from the hunter. “Will you help me up?”

“Of course.”

Jonathan offers his hand and Geoffrey promptly takes it. He is still a little shaky, but refuses to take the wheel chair, saying something about not wanting to sit down for a while. Consequently, Jonathan has to support his weight as they make their way to the front desk where the same red-haired boy from the other times is waiting for Geoffrey, a terrified look on his face.

“Johnson.” Geoffrey’s eyes narrow and he moves away from Jonathan. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“They left me with the lorry…” The boy quickly says. “Sir, I am _so_ sorry…”

Jonathan glances knowingly at the boy, but the recruit pays him no attention, his bright blue eyes focused on his leader with a level of alarm that comes only with duty. After a second, though, Jonathan has to look at the boy again.

He did not notice it the other times he saw him, but right now he’s pretty sure he’s not a _boy_ at all.

“Save it.” Geoffrey says and Jonathan widens his eyes in surprise before realising that Geoffrey is not talking to him. His next, softer words, though are directed at the doctor: “Thank you… Jonathan.”

It could have been an illusion with how quietly he says the words, but Jonathan finds himself smiling, enjoying the way his name sounds coming out of the hunter’s mouth. When Geoffrey offers him his hand, Jonathan shakes it with a blooming sense of success.

“Take care, Geoffrey.” He says, taking a step back as if he is yanking himself away from temptation.

-x-

“I have to admit, Jonathan, I am not happy with you.” Dr. Edgar Swansea says from behind his desk. Jonathan crosses his arms, unimpressed, and waits. He really should stop coming to see Edgar after his shift. The man _always_ has something to say that prevents Jonathan from sleeping as peacefully as he would normally. “I am not happy at all.”

“He needed assistance, Edgar, and I tended to him.” The vampire explains very calmly. “Do you have a problem with that?”

The dark sky outside starts pouring into heavy rain and Jonathan sighs. People of London will have a rainy morning while he sleeps and, in a couple of days, he will have a few cases of cold and pneumonia to take care of.

“The problem is that the guard is closing in on us, my dear friend, and I don’t think you should rely that much on a hunter’s mercy.” Dr. Swansea reasons. Everything about his demeanour speaks of unease and Jonathan finds himself almost buying into the man’s reservations. “They’re all unreasonable beasts, the lot of them. They’re _not_ to be trusted.”

“Some people would say the same about my kind.” Jonathan considers, eyes downcast.

“That’s… that’s _different_ , Jonathan.” Swansea hurriedly argues. “I hope you take my concern into consideration before… _indulging_ McCullum too much.”

For a second, Jonathan wonders if it is jealousy what he is hearing around the other doctor’s words, maybe some irrational fear that Jonathan is interested in being friends with somebody else?

“I will, Edgar. Don’t worry.” Jonathan says with a soft smile that does not reach his eyes. Weirdly enough, he actually believes McCullum trusts him, so why wouldn’t he extend the man the same courtesy? He _wants_ to, after all.

It is almost a wish when Jonathan starts to wonder what the cause of the hunter’s next visit will be.

Swansea clears his throat.

“Anyway… there is something else I needed to talk to you about.” He says, agitatedly tapping his fingers on the dark wood of his desk. “It has to do with Sean Hampton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm in love with all the feedback I'm getting from this piece! You're really making me want to push the rest of the chapters out as fast as I can haha and we only have three more to go!
> 
> (I'm also pushing out two other projects, one Sleeping Beauty piece (sleeping hunter idk) called I Walked With You and a criminal investigation fic called Muddy Waters (first chapter was posted earlier today) and I thought I'd let you know in case you want to check them out <3 )


	4. Move a little closer so my head can spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here comes de Angst. Sorry.   
> *runs to the hills*  
> But there IS some cuteness around there. Hope that makes it up to you! And we have some comfort for Jonathan's hurt next chapter <3

The next time they meet, however, Geoffrey McCullum does not come to the hospital by one injury or another. He is, in fact, the opposite of incapacitated: high on self-righteousness and the blood of King Arthur, he seems to have lost all the trust he had on Jonathan back when he was the most vulnerable. He does not believe Jonathan when he says he had nothing to do with whatever the hunter believes started the epidemic.

That, more than anything else, is what hurts the most.

Truth is: things are not good. And the more Jonathan strives to do what he feels is right, the more he keeps missing the mark, failing to find the right parts of the puzzle in time. He is struggling as it is with all the death around him, all the blood on his hands, half the town gone to shit and the betrayed look on Geoffrey’s eyes when the hunter pulls his sword out is like the final nail to Jonathan’s coffin.

It hurts Jonathan to have to take the hunter down, but he _is_ on a mission. He has an epidemic to stop. He has to find Swansea. Therefore, the first chance he has, he sinks his fangs on the Geoffrey’s neck to drain him. Only after he does it, he realises his mistake.

The hunter throws him away with practiced ease and Jonathan barely blinks, mouth still wet with the sweet metallic liquid, its flavour so rich it sets his entire body alight.

Once or twice, he almost forgets he’s just trying to incapacitate the hunter, his body singing with a need so intense he can barely think, teeth, lips and tongue working against the soft skin of Geoffrey’s neck again and again in search of more. More. _More_.

It takes him every ounce of his self-control not to _devour_ Geoffrey when he has the hunter on his knees before him. Even subdued, the man is still deliciously unrelenting in his fury and Jonathan has the stray thought that, right then, he could do whatever the hell he wanted to Geoffrey – kill him, _fuck_ him, turn him.

What Jonathan does, however, is spare his life.

He already has the hunter’s blood in his veins. On his tongue. He does not want it on his hands.

Swansea’s end, however, is less fortunate.

It is far too late when Jonathan gets to him, but even if he had gotten there sooner… Jonathan is not entirely sure how much mercy he would be able to show the man whose God complex originated the entire mess they are in.

“You be careful around that hunter, my dear friend.” Swansea is able to say. Maybe him being so close to death made him more aware of what is going on, of Jonathan’s confusing emotions, but his next words make the vampire gasp in surprise: “Pursuing him might just be the last thing you ever do…”

He might have been talking about revenge, Jonathan will think much later, but his choice of words sets Jonathan’s teeth on edge as he waits for the director’s heartbeat to come to a final stop.

-x-

Things do not improve from then on and Jonathan is almost driving himself insane trying to get everything done. That’s why he sees Geoffrey next. He needs him. Needs something he has.

It is early enough in the evening that the bright moon allows Jonathan to see clearly where the hunter stands watch over the cemetery, his men patrolling the graves bellow. A cold breeze whistles through the tombstones and Jonathan grits his teeth. He is so close to finishing the antidote. The cure. Something do undo the whole mess they created.

He just needs a favour from Geoffrey and he figures that, given how their last encounter ended, the hunter at least owed him the courtesy of listening to his request.

It is awkward, though, talking to him, and it leaves Jonathan with the taste of dèjá-vu on the back of his throat. He gets what he came for, though: a drop of King Arthur’s blood, the only reason why McCullum was able to stand up to him so long in a fight.

There is a world of things Jonathan wants to ask him, but what he does is pocket the small vial the hunter gives him and bid:

“Adieu, vampire hunter.”

A challenge glinting in his eyes and clear recognisance in his every feature, the man replies:

“Until we meet again, blood drinker.”

Jonathan has no time to be unsettled by the way his heart pound in his chest, light even though he feels like the world lays on his shoulders. He has things to do.

-x-

The most disturbing sighs come out of his lips as Jonathan works to craft the antidote and he can only think about when it is that they will meet again.

And damn him if it is not sooner than he wanted and for all the wrong seasons.

Barely two hours after Jonathan returns to the hospital, in fact. The Ekon has the antidote in his hands and a vague notion of where he is expected when Dr. Tippets demands his expertise on a case.

Before Swansea passed away, the situation in the hospital was already dire. They _did_ put Dr. Ackroyd in charge, but it does not seem like things are going to improve anytime soon.

And there is always an emergency or another. A life and death situation.

Jonathan simply does not have the time tonight. Whoever it is, whatever the emergency is, it could wait. It should wait.

But Jonathan goes with Tippets. If someone asked him why, he would not be able to explain it.

And it is a good thing, that he goes. That he listens to Tippets.

Jonathan _smells_ him before he sees him, the same blood that made his undead heart _sing_ with ecstasy what feels like a lifetime ago. He’s laying open on the table as someone works to suture… something…

Jonathan takes a step back, freezing.

Geoffrey McCullum, the helpless bastard.

There is way too much blood outside of his body, over the bed, the floor, the doctors’ and nurses’ uniforms. He is as pale as paper and Jonathan feels like throwing up. Over the chatter of urgent voices in the room, he can hear the hunter’s heart beating out of compass, his body slowly shutting down, and Jonathan steps in.

It’s all a blur after that. A few hours later when he comes to check on the hunter, if asked about what happened, he wouldn’t be able to give more details other than the fact that the man was maimed almost beyond salvation, drained of blood and that Jonathan and his team were able to repair some internal damage.

He was lucky to be alive.

“Stupid stubborn hunters… it’s like you _enjoy_ getting hurt.” Jonathan ponders aloud as he circles the bed where the vulnerable form of the hunter is lying. It has been a few hours since the surgery, fluid and blood pumped into the hunter and Jonathan still hasn’t been able to leave the hospital. _What if something happens?_ “I should have turned you when I had the chance. This would never have happened…”

“Aren’t you cute?” Geoffrey slurs with a snort, startling Jonathan as his eyes flutter open and close again. “You shouldn’t be cute…”

“Geoffrey? Are you awake?” Jonathan inquires, forcing one of the man’s eyelids open to check his pupils. He is not all there yet.

Geoffrey moves his head away, scrunching his nose, and groans:

“No...”

Filled with fond exasperation and an unhealthy dose of relief, Jonathan goes to check on the blood transfusion they set up after the surgery. McCullum still has a third of a bag to go and so Jonathan stands up to leave only to come face to face with the Priwen rookie from the other day, the one who’s not a boy, standing just outside the door.

In a hurry, the rookie asks:

“How is he?”

“Johnson, right?” Jonathan asks and the rookie nods. “He’s going to be fine. As soon as he stops trying to get himself killed.”

“He was trying to save me, you know.” The rookie admits, voice breaking and face turning bright pink as tears well in soft blue eyes. “It’s my fault.”

Jonathan looks her over. There is not much on her appearance to suggest she is a girl, hair short and face too void of the angles that would be considered feminine. If she does not want the others to know of her gender as Jonathan suspects is the case, though, it would be best if she stopped crying, Jonathan thinks.

“I have to go now. You keep an eye on him, yeah?” Jonathan asks. The rookie nods again, obstinate. “It’s like he’s got a death wish or something.”

“Look who’s talking.” A hoarse voice comes from behind Jonathan, gruff and lethargic, and doctor and rookie turn around to look at the debilitated hunter’s pained face. “Are you leaving, Jonathan?”

Jonathan considers lying, but he can see in Geoffrey’s eyes that the hunter knows exactly _where_ he is going and what he is going to do.

“Yeah.” Jonathan answers, lips pressed into a thin line. McCullum nods, thoughtfully, and offers:

“Take my crossbow with you. It’s with the rest of my things…”

Jonathan lets out a breath he did not know he had been holding in. That’s not the reaction he was expecting from Geoffrey.

“Are you sure?” He asks, but is already moving to retrieve said weapon. Geoffrey nods again.

“You’ll need it more than I do right now.” He says with a teasing tone that does very little to hide the worry in his eyes.

“Thank you.” He sincerely says, testing the weight of the crossbow on his hand.

_This might be useful_ , he thinks.

“Whatever.” It’s McCullum’s eloquent answer. “Don’t die, okay?”

Something warm spreads through Jonathan’s chest at the sweetness hidden in his offering. Jonathan looks at him for a long tense moment, throat tight with something he wants to say but words do not come out and he is entirely too aware of the rookie standing close to the door.

He wants to _touch_ McCullum. Wants to offer him some kind of reassurance. But he can only look at him and hope that his conflicted emotions are clear enough in his eyes.

The rookie coughs dryly and Jonathan snaps out of it, leaving with a swish of his cape and hurried footsteps.

“ _What_ was that?” Johnson asks, approaching McCullum’s bed. The older guard closes his eyes, exhaustion painting his strong features.

“What?” He demands. Johnson lets out a soft giggle that earns her an annoyed glare but doesn’t stop her from saying in a mockingly dramatic tone:

“‘Take my crossbow, love, and my heart while you’re at it!’”

“You’re overstepping, rookie.” McCullum warns her, but his face feels warm and Johnson knows him better than to be fooled by his standoffish demeanour. With a soft smile, she accuses:

“You _like_ him!”

Not for the first time, McCullum feels some regret for taking the rookie under his wing. It’s not like he had much of a choice, though. When her family was ambushed and killed by one of the beasts the roam around the docks, she was too old to be sent to an orphanage, too stubborn to be turned away and completely alone in this world. But the Guard is not exactly welcoming of such young women and although Johnson plays the part very well, the way she’s smiling at her mentor would easily give her away.

“He saved me. Over and over again.” Geoffrey explains more to himself than to the recruit, his thoughts straying towards the night he decided to confront the doctor over his suspicions regarding the epidemic.

The look on the vampire’s face, like he was more disappointed at himself than at Geoffrey. The way he fought back just enough to weaken him. The way his entire body shook every time he fed on the hunter’s blood, groans shaking his chest as he tried to get closer and Geoffrey struggled to get away.

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night…” Johnson says in a distracted manner but as soon as she notices the glare McCullum casts her way she amends: “Erm… sir.”

McCullum grunts in frustration. Now the vampire doctor is gone to God-knows-how put an end to the epidemic that has devastated their land and Geoffrey is tied to a hospital bed and can’t help but frown in worry and pray the Ekon makes it through his ordeal.

“Do you want some water? I’ll get you some water.” Johnson quickly says, mistaking his closed-off expression for annoyance at her words and leaving McCullum to stare at the ceiling, trying and failing not to let panic set foot inside his chest.


	5. Ooh, my Dr. Wanna Do. I can't get over you: Dr. Do-Anything-That-You-Wanna-Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan comes back to London with a broken heart and Geoffrey's crossbow. When he goes to return it, things get a little too intense for his comfort, and then intense in a way that is almost too comfortable. Last 'real' chapter to this story, as the next one is an epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is long (and hard hihihihi)  
> 4.5 seems a little over the top *giggles* for a chapter, but I can't cut it, can't divide it, and I think you guys are going to ENJOY IT. I hope so, at least.  
> This is the last real chapter of the story. The next one is just an epilogue and it's going to be shorter.

In the entire English language, there is not a single word strong enough to convey just how devastated Jonathan is when he returns to London.

He can’t even say what brings him back other than a fleeting sense of home. He has no family left. No friends. Everyone he knows, everyone who’s ever cared for him, is either dead or completely alienated by the condition of his cursed existence.

His lungs still burn with the fire that devoured Elisabeth’s body and left his very soul shivering, crying, shamed by the disappointment he met in her eyes.

He has tried so _hard_.

It takes him a while, then, to recover enough to be able to leave his family mansion, but he still has Geoffrey McCullum’s crossbow with him. He is not sure _where_ they stand at the moment, after all, Geoffrey has lent him his crossbow and even seemed concerned for his safety.

He did try to kill Jonathan, though.

Not that Jonathan can blame him. He can’t say he wouldn’t have done the same, were their positions reversed. So out into the London night he goes in search of the hunter.

The whole city feels somewhat different, the world turned entirely too inhospitable all of a sudden. Hostile. And finding Geoffrey, too, proves to be more difficult than Jonathan had anticipated. The hunter is not at the hospital anymore. He was discharged almost a week before, a surprised Dr. Strickland tells him. But Geoffrey is not back on the streets either, so Jonathan has no choice but to go to the Priwen Guard’s headquarters.

He wishes he had an option other than going there, what with the hostile way the guards he encounters stare at him and whisper furiously among themselves. They let the doctor in, however, and one of them, Horace if Jonathan recalls correctly, escorts him to McCullum’s office.

He finds the Irishman bent over his desk staring at some papers. He doesn’t do much other than look up when Jonathan enters the room. It’s enough, though, that their eyes meet, charging the air around them with the weight of everything they never told each other.

“Jonathan!” The careful surprise on Geoffrey’s voice makes the Ekon’s heart unclench in his chest, entirely too vulnerable to be gazed onto that knowingly.

Horace clears his throat behind Jonathan’s back, uncomfortable, but leaves without having to be told to do so.

“How long have you been back?” Geoffrey asks, abandoning his papers in favour of studying the vampire. He makes a face. “Damn, doc... pardon my French, but you look like shit.”

Jonathan snorts bitterly, the closest to a laugh he has come in what feels like a very long time.

“I can’t really say for sure. Couple of weeks, at most.” He says casually, voice carefully smooth as not to reveal how fragile is the state he’s in. His appearance is already too telling. “But I’m sure you know that, already.”

Geoffrey nods, coming around his desk.

“Close the door, please. I’ve heard of what you’ve done, of course, _and_ that you were back.” Jonathan does as he’s asked. The hunter crosses his arms, dark eyes fixed on the man in front of him, barely believing his presence. Jonathan _feels_ different than before, not at all the same confident, driven man, and Geoffrey concedes: “Truth be told, you did more for _our_ cause than most of us can dream of…”

Jonathan knows he’s not talking about Elisabeth’s or Swansea’s death, but it nevertheless hits him the wrong way. He clears his abnormally tight throat.

As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing admirable about the way things played out.

“I didn’t come here to be congratulated.” He mutters. Geoffrey looks at him strangely for a second before shrugging it off and asking:

“Why _did_ you come here, then?”

Jonathan lifts the crossbow for Geoffrey to see.

“I had to return this.” He says. “It’s a fine piece of weaponry. I figured you’d want it back.”

“Oh, that’s…” Geoffrey actually seems surprised to see the weapon again. He takes it from Jonathan and, earnest, says, “Thank you.”

For a second, he just tests the weight of the crossbow against his wrist until, satisfied, he leaves it on a shelf. He then leans his hip against the side of his desk, relaxing in small increments, and shoots Jonathan a concerned look before saying:

“But I meant what I said before, Jonathan. You are definitely not in the best of shape. What’s on your mind?”

He seems so _genuinely_ worried… it hits Jonathan like a punch to the gut.

 _Isn’t that an interesting question?_ , he Ekon thinks.

Ever since Jonathan came back, his thoughts have been tarnished by blood and pestilence, gunpowder and death. Before he can think twice, he says:

“Fire.” And has to close his eyes because he feels the same urge he felt every single night when he wakes up and before he goes to sleep, his eyes itching with tears that never really fall. “I’ve… lost someone. _One more_ someone. Very recently.”

It’s important to specify; after all, his list keeps growing.

Mary. His mother. Swansea.

_Elisabeth._

Geoffrey doesn’t seem surprised at Jonathan’s words, but his eyes soften in sympathy.

“That read-haired lady, right? Ashbury or something.” He moves to sit on the desk as Jonathan nods. “Was she your girl?”

“What? No…” Jonathan is quick to answer, thinking about how offended Elisabeth was that he thought he would be enough to keep her in this world and how offended she would be to be referred to as ‘his girl’. “She was… a mentor of sorts.”

Geoffrey nods again and does this weird thing where he shifts to the side and pats the desk as if inviting Jonathan closer. Jonathan is caught so off-guard by their whole conversation that he just… he goes, joining Geoffrey on top of the table if only because if he doesn’t do something with himself he might start punching stuff.

“What happened?” Geoffrey asks quietly.

Jonathan swallows thickly.

“She killed herself.”

He is curt not because he means to be, but because those three words are more than enough to make his throat close up, voice catching. Breaking. When he breathes, it sounds like a sob.

“I didn’t… I _couldn’t_ stop her.”

“Hell, Jonathan…” Geoffrey sighs, one hand coming to rest comfortingly on top of the doctor’s shoulder. Jonathan’s tears come unbidden, then, running down his cheeks before he can stop himself. At that, Geoffrey comes down from his perch and steps in front of Jonathan, arms opening to pull the crying Ekon against his chest with a softly whispered: “Com’ere…”

It takes Jonathan a few seconds too long to understand that he is being hugged, having already crumbled against the warmth of the hunter’s embrace before he can feel embarrassed about it.

He hadn’t really cried for all the terrible things that happened. Not really. He shed a couple of tears here and there. Screamed and cursed at the skies. But _this_ …

This is different. His eyes burn and his head pounds around every tear. He feels small and young, tiny sounds of grief and despair escaping him, sounds he does not remember hearing from himself since he was a little boy.

It’s _real_ in a way nothing else has been in a while and it makes everything else _feel_ more real in retrospect. His loss. His broken heart at the tip of Geoffrey’s fingers.

Geoffrey touches Jonathan’s back with smoothing motions, his touch firm as the other man sobs with his head fit against the hunter’s shoulder. Jonathan does not know how long he stays there, but it’s enough to make his jaw ache and his chest burn.

The moment is broken when a knock on the door brings them back to the real world. Without waiting for an answer, the person who knocked proceeds to open the door and Geoffrey barks:

“Get the fuck out of here!”

His grip around Jonathan tightens protectively as whoever it was scurries away, but it’s too late. Jonathan lets out a dry laugh as he realises the poor shape of his behaviour and moves to step away, but Geoffrey doesn’t allow him to, a strong arm around the vampire’s waist and a big hand pressing on top of his head, telling him it’s okay. It’s okay to stay.

It is so comforting Jonathan allows himself to relax into the embrace, not thinking much about how close they are. He is still half on top of the desk and the position they are in brings Geoffrey right between his legs, his throat against Jonathan’s nose. There is a spot on the hunter’s neck, under his ear, where his scent is the strongest, right above where Jonathan sank his fangs to drink his blood.

Jonathan runs the tip of his nose up the column of Geoffrey’s throat and inhales deeply as if trying to trap the musky, wooden smell of the hunter’s skin deep inside his lungs. He can’t help himself. He wants to chase the scent down the layers of the man’s flesh and it drags a tiny broken moan out of his throat.

It’s such a small gesture and an even smaller sound, but it is more than enough to shift them from something that could be entirely platonic into more intimate territory. Especially after the way Geoffrey positively _shivers_ against Jonathan.

It’s not rejection, that shiver, but it’s not reciprocation either because Jonathan is pretty sure Geoffrey, just like himself, doesn’t know for sure where they should go from here. The tentative way he spreads his hand on the small of Jonathan’s back, though, makes the doctor’s breath catch for an entirely new reason.

It’s strange, Jonathan vaguely thinks, to hold someone like Geoffrey so closely – they’re almost the same size and the hunter is all bulk and muscle, warm with blood, with life. Jonathan pants against his neck, trying to absorb more of the masculine, lively smell on the man’s skin. He opens his mouth, ready to…

What? Lick him? _Kiss_ his neck?

And then he _feels_ it.

The hunger.

His fangs throb inside his mouth, lips opening in an involuntary snarl and he immediately jumps away, scrambling off the desk, grimacing as he tries to hide his teeth. It takes him a moment to gather himself and when he does, Geoffrey’s is not looking at him.

Geoffrey keeps his expression carefully schooled and Jonathan, well… That impulse to punch something? He might just punch himself. In the face.

Geoffrey smooths invisible creases on his coat as his face reddens for a few seconds that feel endless and offers:

“Look, I’m… I’m really sorry for you loss, Reid.” Jonathan blinks at him, understanding all at once that the hunter read his retreat all wrong. “And thank you… for, you know, bringing the crossbow back… I’ve… missed it.”

Jonathan recognises his words for what they are, though: a way out. If Jonathan wants it.

He could just leave then, you see. Never having to answer to or even _think_ about how close they got to… whatever. But then he notices the almost too careful way the hunter is holding himself and blurts out:

“How have _you_ been, vampire hunter?”

He aims for proper, but sounds breathless and Geoffrey just looks at him as if he has just asked a deeply philosophical question. It helps the doctor feel a little more like himself, a bit more human than beast, and he takes a step forward as he tries again:

“Last time I saw you, you were badly injured. How is your recovery?”

Geoffrey arches an eyebrow, eyes darting to the side as if expecting it to be a prank.

“It’s… fine. I just…” He does not seem at all convinced of Jonathan’s good intentions. “The stitches are a pain in the arse...”

Jonathan nods. Before he can think twice about it, he offers:

“Would you like me to take a look at it?”

It makes sense, after all. He _is_ a doctor. It would save Geoffrey a trip to the hospital. He is absolutely not grasping at reasons to stay a way to stay a little longer, he tells himself at the same time as he knows he just need a little more time. Then he might just be able to stop acting like a schoolboy with his first crush. _Maybe_.

After a heartbeat too long, Geoffrey mutters:

“Sure,” and moves to strip his coat with a grimace. The movement probably pulls at his stitches a little and Jonathan moves in to help him. He leaves the coat carefully folded on top of the desk as Geoffrey undoes the buttons on his shirt.

There’s a small spot of blood on one of the bandages, but it’s not fresh. Jonathan lifts the dressings one by one to check on the stitches, trying not to let his eyes wander too much. It is quite difficult, however. Last time he saw Geoffrey shirtless, he had been elbow deep inside the hunter’s guts, so he was distracted from the soft dark hairs that cover the muscles of his pectorals, but now? Well.

His mouth goes _dry_.

“No signs of infection. It’s healing just fine.” Jonathan says, straightening himself. “I’m afraid the stitches will have to stay for a while longer, though. Just to be safe.”

Geoffrey curious gaze drills holes into Jonathan’s face, but the Ekon refuses to meet his eyes. He has had too much of McCullum’s skin and smell around him for the last few months, he decides. That is why he is finding it so difficult not to stare at the man’s flesh.

He is conditioned.

 _Addicted_ , a small voice inside his head supplies helpfully.

“If you say so.” Geoffrey mutters. He pulls his shirt closed, but doesn’t do the buttons again, apparently undisturbed by his state of undress. Instead, he asks: “You said something about turning me, didn’t you? Back at the hospital. I wasn’t imagining things.”

Jonathan heart stutters, but he schools his expression into something almost neutral. He could lie. He doesn’t. He doesn’t _want_ to.

“Well, you see, I wasn’t… _thinking_ when I said that…” He explains with a small, embarrassed shrug. “But I did think about it… back at the hospital. Before. When you… When we…”

_When you wanted to kill me._

“Why didn’t you?” Geoffrey demands. “You had me on my knees, Jonathan. You could have done anything. Why didn’t you?”

Jonathan shrugs once more. The movement makes him feel younger than his years, as if he’s once again a little boy failing to explain his small transgressions to his mother.

“Didn’t think you’d forgive me.” He ends up saying. Geoffrey is still staring at him as if he is a particularly confusing puzzle. The hunter asks:

“And why did you even consider the possibility, then?”

Jonathan hesitates, but realises this is not the kind of situation where you can say half of what you mean. You have to either be all in or out, so he makes a decision. His tongue feels thick inside his mouth as he lays it all out:

“Even as a mortal, you were able to hold yourself against me. That’s… impressive, to say the least.” That is not the important part, though, and when Jonathan’s eyes meet Geoffrey’s, time itself seems to stand still. “I just felt like it would be… nice to… to have _you_. To have someone else in this existence. An equal.”

Geoffrey blinks. He is still stuck between Jonathan seeing him as an equal and his desire to _have_ him, as he so bluntly put it, so it comes almost as a surprise when the Ekon’s soft cold fingers brush the side of his face. Geoffrey did not notice him moving.

There is a lot that can be open to interpretation when it comes to words, but a touch like this and the intensity coiled in the bright blue of Jonathan’s stormy eyes, there’s very little chance of misunderstanding. Geoffrey opens his mouth for words that never come, heart leaping onto his throat as he braces himself he does not know what for.

A kiss? The end of the world?

At this point, he can say he would happily accept both, reduced as he is to a moth captured by flame.

On Jonathan’s end, everything gains an astounding sharpness as he leans in to kiss Geoffrey’s lips.

Nothing has felt this real to the Ekon in so long, the last few months something out of a dream or a nightmare, but this? This feels _real_. It feels good. He is as alive now as when he was human if not more so, eager tongue delving into the hunter’s pliant mouth, wet and so hot it makes Jonathan want to climb inside his flesh, live inside his bones.

And as much as Geoffrey is expecting the kiss, as much as he can clearly see it coming, he is not prepared for the intensity with which his body responds. At first, he recognises how everything is quite strange, quite new: kissing somebody with a beard, somebody who is obviously just as strong as he is… someone whose lips aren’t _warm_ , but aren’t exactly cold either.

Then Jonathan’s arms go around him, a deep moan vibrating from his chest, and Geoffrey yields to the bliss of it all, positively melting against the man and responding to the kiss as if he would otherwise die. Their tongues press together in teasing little nudges and Geoffrey pulls Jonathan closer, one hand on his waist while the other finds the short, soft dark hair behind the man’s head, aiming for a deeper angle. He wants nothing but more of the man’s mouth, the lingering taste of his kiss.

He can barely concentrate on breathing with the way Jonathan’s tongue seems intent on mapping his mouth. His body feels at once hot and cold and, then, the worst happens.

Or it might be the best, Geoffrey is still uncertain.

His lip catches on the edge of Jonathan’s sharp fangs and he’s not even able to explain what happens next. In one second, they are standing close together trying to taste each other’s tonsils, and in the next Geoffrey is stuck between the wall behind his desk and Jonathan’s hungry form. The vampire devours his mouth, sucking the blood from his cut lip hard enough to make him moan in surprised arousal and pain.

It is like a levee breaking, that first moan. Geoffrey has never been particularly noisy when it comes to sex, something to do with spending his teenage years in the guard with little to no privacy, but right now he cannot help himself anymore, throat torn by noises he barely recognises as Jonathan moves on to suck and nibble on his neck.

Jonathan is careful not to bite him too hard, not to break skin, but his tongue laving at Geoffrey’s throat is making the hunter squirm and shiver, unsure if he wants to get away or get closer.

It is too much, too fast, but Geoffrey does not care. He wants it all.

“Now that’s an interesting turn of events…” He manages to breathlessly say. Jonathan’s dark chuckle against his ear makes his skin pebble up as a warm shiver runs down his spine.

“Interesting indeed.” Jonathan replies, smooth voice turned so dark and warm it makes the hunter arch against him, offering himself up for the taking.

The hunter is so enraptured he only notices Jonathan is undressing him when his undone shirt falls from his shoulders. Jonathan pauses with his thumb against the button of Geoffrey’s trousers, a questions hovering.

The hunter considers stopping. He knows he could. But what he does, eyelids falling to half-mast and lips raw from Jonathan’s kisses, is ask:

“Touch me.”

“Fuck…” Jonathan chokes out, fingers moving deftly. Geoffrey kicks his trousers off and pulls the Ekon’s hand towards where he is hard and wet and _oh, so hot_ against Jonathan’s palm.

For a long moment, Jonathan loses track of what he was meant to be doing, his whole world centred on the line of heat sliding against his palm. His thoughts are clouded by the realisation of how aroused Geoffrey is, hips thrusting into the circle of his fingers seemingly unaware of his movements, his breathing mingled with gasps and the most delicious moans. Jonathan tightens his fingers, aware only of the fact that, if he could, he would do this and only this for the entire night.

Geoffrey, however, is not as distracted as Jonathan is and he is quite dissatisfied with the prospect of being the only naked person in the room. He starts pushing Jonathan’s clothes away with rushed movements, but it is not an easy feat as Jonathan seems to be a very big fan of layers when it comes to clothing and the doctor keeps trying to kiss Geoffrey’s mouth, neck, shoulders.

Well, Geoffrey supposes that, when it comes to interferences, he’s had worse.

As soon as Jonathan notices what Geoffrey is trying to do, his lays a lingering kiss to the hunter’s jaw and says, voice bright with mirth:

“Just a second…”

And, _okay, I can wait a second_ , Geoffrey thinks as he watches Jonathan step back to peel his clothes off one by one. He is not nearly as careful with his own clothing as he was with Geoffrey’s, though, his expensive-looking coat, tie and waistcoat hitting the floor without second glances.

 _Geoffrey_ is glancing though, especially as Jonathan’s shirt comes off and pale, soft-looking skin is revealed little by little.

“Jesus…” Geoffrey breathlessly says, reaching out to run greedy fingers over the expansion of the Ekon’s chest, the hard light-pink knots of his nipples scrapping his palm. Jonathan takes Geoffrey’s hand, then, brings it to his own mouth and licks a wet stripe from the middle of his palm until the tip of his index finger. He then pushes it down between their bodies and says in a voice that is half-plea, half-order:

“Touch me…”

Geoffrey acquiesces, tracing the soft hairs on Jonathan’s lean stomach until he reaches the gap in his trousers and, beyond it, the hardened extension of his erection. He pulls it out, the flesh velvet-soft and darkened with blood, and strokes it slowly, tight around the base, a twist and pull at the tip.

Jonathan lets out the most beautiful sound as Geoffrey strokes him, this raspy groan that sets Geoffrey’s blood on fire as he drags the doctor in for a messy kiss.

Geoffrey wonders, vaguely, when was it that he decided that _this_ was going to happen, because as Jonathan’s hands find the firm globes of his ass, it feels like this is the conclusion he has been waiting for a long time. It feels _right_. And he does not want to stop.

Jonathan does not need to ask for Geoffrey to turn around. He needs to do nothing more than spread his fingers as if testing the waters and Geoffrey _goes_ , a calm he hasn’t experienced in a long time settling into his very bones.

He is not familiar with this part, but somehow knows what to expect. It hurts way less than what the words suggest, taking it up in the arse, but it makes him feel every bit as exposed and vulnerable as he anticipated.

He thinks it comes with the attention and care Jonathan dedicates to him, both the being almost painless and the vulnerability it brings him. Jonathan fingers him so carefully Geoffrey feels like sobbing against the arm he braces against the wall.

He is good with his hands, Jonathan. He probably would not be so respected in his field if he weren’t, Geoffrey dazedly thinks as the man repeatedly brushes against his prostate as if he’s _trying_ to get the Geoffrey to make more noise. As if Jonathan himself is not being loud enough for both of them, moaning half-formed words and curses, throbbing hard cock pressed against the curve of Geoffrey’s arse as he prepares him.

Geoffrey is just about to come out of his skin, being desired so openly setting a wild part of him suddenly alive. He feels raw, spread open on Jonathan’s fingers, bare and fragile, dirty in the best possible way, but this almost overwhelming feeling is eclipsed by what it feels like when Jonathan lines himself up and slowly sinks into Geoffrey’s body.

There aren’t many words after that as everything there is to be said is expressed through the way their bodies align and seek one another, each thrust a promise, each kiss a vow.

It is such a visceral act that Geoffrey comes as if his orgasm is being punched out of him. Maybe it is, Jonathan pounding relentless into him as his fingers tighten around the hunter’s weeping cock. Geoffrey moans long and loud as he tips over the edge. He pushes back to take Jonathan’s cock in deeper as he spills over his fist, warm and sticky and the best thing he’s ever felt.

Geoffrey’s orgasm sends Jonathan spiralling out of control. Jonathan can feel it around his cock, can hear the blood rushing through the hunter’s veins along with his husky, throaty moans. And, most of all, he can smell it: the musk of his arousal, his sweat, and when he comes…

Jonathan fits his mouth against Geoffrey’s shoulder in a wet, messy kiss, muffling his moans and grabbing at the man’s hips as if he’s completely forgotten that the hunter’s just had major surgery performed. He buries himself in Geoffrey with stuttering movements, trying to get as deep as he can, and spends himself with long hard thrusts.

“Fuck, Geoffrey…” Jonathan groans as the waves subside, trembling with his nerves flayed raw. He slides shaking hands over sweaty skin and Geoffrey leans back, head coming to rest on Jonathan’s shoulder as the Ekon touches him and nuzzles at his neck.

Much later, both men will think of this sudden deviation of their self-control with equal doses of wonder and embarrassment, but right now, it just makes them feel like the entire world is aligning. Like everything is okay, for a little while.

Outside on the hallway, Horace, having just been expelled from McCullum office after catching him and Dr. Reid in a surprisingly intimate embrace, has to hold Johnson by the back of the uniform in order to save the rookie from going down the hall to bring McCullum the reports he requested.

The documents can, after all, wait.


	6. I'll stay forever, it's up to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue to our love story, to cleanse our palates ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give a cookie to whomever finds the community reference in this last chapter. Could not resist.

They have been together for almost a year when Geoffrey tells Jonathan, very gravely, that if it ever comes a time when he has to choose between turning him and letting him die, he should turn him.

It takes Jonathan a couple of seconds to completely grasp what his lover is saying, but when he does, the relief that washes over him is instantaneous. The man’s safety has been, after all, ninety-five percent his worries since some time before that first night they were together.

They have been together for five and a half years when the time finally arrives.

Things have changed. Horace has retired from the Guard. Johnson is running her own unit and Geoffrey... Hell… The world grows healthier, stronger, but the hunter grows tired. Weak. Frail.

It breaks Jonathan’s heart to watch it, but he stands by his man.

It is in his blood by the time they realise _what_ it is, moving faster than they can control it. It started somewhere around his liver, Jonathan guesses, some pain depending on the position the hunter is in, a strange sweetness in his scent, a pound too many dropped across only a few months, a sickly yellow tint around his eyes for the past week.

So fast. Almost _too_ fast.

Geoffrey is on leave. Has been for a month or so.

Jonathan treats him the best he can until it becomes clear they have to do something.

The night of Geoffrey’s turning, Jonathan gets him some fine cheese and cold cuts. Dark chocolate. Red wine. Kisses his stained lips and takes him to bed under soft candle light. He cuts his wrist on a thin sharp blade and, bringing it to the hunter’s lips, instructs:

“Drink, love.”

Geoffrey doesn’t even fight the word – _love_. He usually does. Too cheesy, too obvious. There are other words, _better_ words to what they are.

Soulmates comes closer when he thinks about how they found each other through everything that happened, but he does not like that word either. For anyone who asks, who wants to know, Geoffrey will just say Jonathan’s is his man, and he is Jonathan’s. Partner. Companion.

When Geoffrey stops drinking, Jonathan kneels by him and the hunter demands:

“Kiss me.” Even as he heart is slowing down, his breathing becoming shallower and shallower. Jonathan obliges, tasting the darkness of his own blood on his lover’s chapped lips.

He lays by Geoffrey’s side and doesn’t part from his lips until the hunter’s heart stops completely. By then, the sun is beginning to rise in the sky outside. Only then, Jonathan cries, for the first time giving into the fear of having things turn out differently than he planned. He cries until there is only fear inside him, cries until the moment when the hunter’s heart starts back again. Very quietly and very slowly.

And Jonathan keeps whispering:

“You’re going to be fine, you’re going to be fine.”

He’s trying to convince himself as much as comfort his man, but he falls asleep before he can be sure of that.

It takes Geoffrey forever to wake up.

-x-

The sky is dark again when Jonathan wakes up, but this is not what wakes him up.

What wakes him up is the tickle of Geoffrey’s scruff against his neck, his breath on Jonathan’s ear as the hunter nuzzles him affectionately. When he realises that Jonathan is awake, Geoffrey leans back to look at him and Jonathan’s heart opens like a flower, relief crashing over him like a rogue wave.

Geoffrey’s eyes are still just as mesmerizing, but they now hold a quiet sort of danger, a stillness that speaks of the inhuman.

The eyes of a predator, wild animal more than hunter.

He looks at Jonathan as if he is seeing the other Ekon for the first time.

“My love.” Jonathan calls and Geoffrey snaps out of whatever is consuming his thoughts, blinking.

Jonathan inhales, scenting the air, but does not smell anything other than Geoffrey’s hair and sweat, the aftershave he used before coming to bed. No trace of the sickness that had been devouring him. Jonathan shifts them on the bed until they are laying side by side and asks:

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.” The newborn answers very quickly, but there’s no urgency in his voice and Jonathan thinks back on his first night as a vampire, the way he was so dazed from hunger he bit the first person to cross his path.

_Mary._

Geoffrey is not like that at all. He is so carefully controlled that Jonathan almost does not recognize him. Then Geoffrey leans in for a kiss and, yeah, Jonathan thinks. Ihis is his man, all right.

He is just waking up to a whole new world.

With a warm shiver of lust, Jonathan guides Geoffrey’s mouth towards his neck, turning his face away to offer his throat, and instructs:

“Bite.”

Geoffrey takes a deep breath maybe in surprise, maybe in preparation, Jonathan cannot tell. But he doesn’t follow the older vampire’s instructions immediately. Instead, he trails light kisses from the Jonathan’s jaw until he reaches his ear.

“You smell so good…” He says in wonder before tracing Jonathan’s neck with the tip of his nose, puffs of air tickling and making Jonathan shiver against him with desire that is not welcome. Not now. Geoffrey needs to feed first. “How come I could never smell you so clearly before?”

“I bet I taste even better…” Jonathan jokes. His words have the desired effect, though. Geoffrey groans deeply and sinks his fangs into Jonathan’s neck.

Jonathan lets out a soft grunt as he endures sharp teeth sinking through skin into muscle, but he gradually relaxes into the feeling as Geoffrey sucks and laps at his blood, feeding on him, and another deviant wave of lust rolls through his body. It is electrifying.

 _This better not awaken anything in me_ , Jonathan thinks, knowing fully well it is way too late. There is not a chance in hell he will be able to live without the Geoffrey drinking from him now that he know what it feels like.

As the hunter’s attack slowly relents, tongue wet as it soothes over rapidly healing skin, Jonathan breathlessly inquires:

“How long have you been up?”

“Couple of hours.” Geoffrey replies, voice pitched low. Jonathan shivers in his arms as the man rolls over him, fitting between his legs like a missing piece. “Sun was still up.”

Jonathan takes a moment to appreciate the weight of Geoffrey’s body over his before asking:

“How are you adapting to immortality?”

Geoffrey shifts a little and Jonathan can feel every curve of his body under his soft pyjamas. It is good to know he is not the only one affected, Jonathan thinks as he reaches out, trailing greedy hands over the hunter’s wide shoulders. Geoffrey props himself on one elbow and stares at the doctor’s bright blue eyes.

“I feel so powerful it gives me shivers.” He says, darkly. “I could be the greatest vampire hunter ever. Your worst nightmare, in truth!”

“Will you hunt me down?” Jonathan inquires with an arched eyebrow. Geoffrey smirks, sharp fangs glistering in the low light of the bedroom.

“Not for now, but you had better behave, doctor, or I might change my mind…” He deadpans before leaning down for a sharp-edged kiss. And, well, if it is Geoffrey, Jonathan might just be okay with the idea of being hunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this has been an amazing ride, everyone! I loved writing this and receiving all your feedback has been amazing! I've been out of the fandom life for a while and I have to tell you: I missed it like crazy and just after starting to post this is that I understood why.
> 
> Now, I still have MANY projects for this ship. Some I have started posting already, some are still in the making (I may or may not have something with beauty and the beast on my list, just fyi).
> 
> Thanks for acompanying me on this ride! I love you guys!  
> And, if you haven't already, check the song that I named this piece after:
> 
> Caro Emerald - Dr. Wanna Do

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far! I'd love to know what you think of this piece!  
> Have a terrific day!


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